Sherlock's gone
by Commander-Penguin
Summary: This is a fic about Sherlock's niece, Silas, Post Reichenbach. She lives with John now, after her uncle died. Please read and review! Keep negativity to a minimum, shall we?
1. Chapter 1

Silas sighed as she pushed open the door to Sherlock's old room. It hadn't been used in three years, ever since he had... left. She still was pained at the thought of her uncle's death. Silas began to dust the bedroom silently, careful of the items on the shelves. She had gone over every scenario in her mind where he would have survived a fall like that, but there was no possible way. Shaking her head, she finished and stood in the doorway, gazing around the room. She smiled as she saw the Periodic Table of the Elements on the wall. It was hung how some people might have hung a photograph, but Sherlock didn't believe in having photos in his room, because, in his words, 'Why would I need a photograph? I see you and John every day.' Silas quietly shut the door behind her and headed into the sitting room, where John sat at his desk. "I've cleaned Sherlock's room." She announced as she put the cleaning supplies in the kitchen. "Hmm? Oh, good." He replied tiredly. He never slept well during cases. "So, have you gotten anywhere with the murder yet?" She asked, dusting her hands on her purple jumper. John just grunted. "No. Not at all. I keep going over these pictures from the scene, but I can't find anything out of the ordinary." He sighed and put his head in his hands. "If only he was here." Silas's heart ached for John. She hugged the older man around the shoulders from behind. "John, we'll be alright. We have been three years." She tried to comfort him. He sighed and shook his head. "I know." He said. She pushed his chair away from the desk, and studied the photos on the screen. "Government official?" She asked. John nodded, getting to his feet. "And he was just found in the middle of nowhere?" He stretched. "Yeah, it's odd, isn't it?" He began to walk into the kitchen. "Very…" Silas bit her lip in thought. She looked through all of the pictures, but had no luck in deducing anything. She cursed herself. 'Why couldn't you be more like your uncle, Silas? He was so much better than you.' The little voice in her head was scolding her again. She slammed her fist on the desk in frustration and an attempt to chase her conscious away. "Silas, calm down. It's just a case." John said from the kitchen. "I know, John, but…Just look at these! There's nothing I can tell about them." She whined. John limped to her side. She looked him up and down. "It's back, John." She said. He nodded. "I know. I- I don't know why." He said, helpless to his state. Silas shrugged and glared at the computer. John limped back into the kitchen leaving her alone at the laptop again. A knock at the door made Silas jump, almost out of her skin. "I'll get it, John." She called. She tugged on her jumper and ran her fingers through her hair before pulling open the door. "Hello, Silas." A deep, achingly familiar voice reached her ears, and her blood ran cold as she looked up at the visitor's face. Sherlock Holmes stood before her, black coat peppered with snowflakes.


	2. Chapter 2

Silas stood frozen, slack jawed staring up at her uncle. She reached up, touching his arm, feeling that he was real. "You're…here? Alive?" Silas asked, in shock. "Obviously." Sherlock answered. Silas didn't hesitate as she pulled back her arm, and punched her uncle hard across the face. "YOU GIT!" She shouted. Sherlock fell to the ground, and looked up at the seventeen year old girl. He stood up as she fumed, dusting off his coat and rubbing his jaw. "There are nicer greeting, you know." He said plainly. Silas looked at him in exasperation. She flung her arms around his neck in a hug, unable to let him go. To her surprise, he hugged her back, as if he did miss her. "You've come home." She whispered, tears beginning to fall from her eyes. Sherlock nodded, holding his niece. As Silas heard the uneven gait behind her, she released her uncle, and turning around to see a shocked John. His eyes trained on Sherlock, he pushed Silas aside to inspect the 'dead' detective. "Sherlock?" He asked. The tall man grinned and nodded. John wasn't sure what to do, other than punch his friend as hard as he could, throwing his to the ground. "Why do you people insist on punching me in the face repeatedly?" Sherlock asked, angrily. "You left! You were dead!" John replied, pulling him to his feet again. "Well I'm back, and clearly alive!" He scoffed. Silas darted inside, and began making tea. She brought in the tea tray just as the two men entered the flat and sat down. She seated herself on the floor, looking up at both men, who seemed so much in shock, that they had no words. "Where have you been all this time?" Silas asked, resting her head on Sherlock's knee. He looked down at her, his cheek already bruising. "I have been hunting down Moriarty's men." He said, shaking Silas away from his leg. John looked confused. "Moriarty's dead. He shot himself in the head." He informed Sherlock, who shook his head. "He's very much alive. He doesn't know I'm alive yet, and I'd like it to stay that way." "How?" Silas asked, intrigued. Sherlock smirked. "He's rather clever." He said. They were all silent for a moment, interrupted by the vibrating of a phone. Silas pulled it from her pocket, reading the caller I.D. "It's Dad." She said, looking up at the two men. "Oh, good. Tell him I'm alive, will you?"


End file.
